And Saturn Devoured His Sons
by slumberingumbrella
Summary: The team sets out to capture a cannibal. Set somewhere in season three. No pairings. Features an OFC. Rated for language, violence, and dark themes.
1. Chapter One

And Saturn Devoured His Sons

_Only in art will the lion lie down with the lamb, and the rose grow without thorn. _

(Martin Amis)

Chapter One

It was late morning and the crisp November wind chilled Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Olivia Reid to the bone as she stepped out of the SUV. To the casual onlooker, a stranger passing on the street, Olivia was simply a thin brunette following the dress code of an orthodox business professional. In her charcoal-gray peacoat, black pants, and nondescript flats, Olivia was as close to being _nobody_ as she could get. Out of habit, she shouldered her messenger bag away from the gun she normally carried—the one token, besides her credentials, that marked her, a young woman who weighed maybe one-twenty soaking wet, as _somebody_. She used the open passenger door as a shield from the wind and swept her long hair into a messy bun that she secured with a jaw-clip. Reaching back into the SUV, Olivia grabbed a small pile of manila folders and her Bureau badge off of the dashboard. Standing at maybe five-five, she stood almost on the tips of her toes, like a child reaching for an object positioned somewhere just a smidge too high to successfully obtain while standing on flat feet, and silently wished she weren't the shortest person in her family.

Olivia was still considering the SUV's interior, unable to banish the nagging fear that she'd forgotten something of dire importance, when something soft was draped around her neck. She jumped and struck out with the precision of a well-trained government agent, but the blow was intercepted by her tall, dark-skinned 'attacker.' When she saw him, she hissed a curse fit to shame sailors _and_ her mother before slamming the door. "Derek," she said in a tone that suggested she was severely tempted to punch the older agent, who was smirking and holding his hands up in a show of mock surrender, in the jaw, "bad move. If I had my gun, I could've shot you, you know."

Derek Morgan reached out and touched his scarf, which was now resting on his younger counterpart's shoulders and draping loosely across her throat. "You look like you're freezing, Liv," he explained lightly, still smirking. Their vehicle beeped softly in the background when he locked it remotely. "It's that thin Nevada blood of yours."

"Spencer and I have lived in D.C. for almost ten years, Derek," Olivia replied. She looked at her watch. "And we're going to be late if we don't move it," she added, gesturing with one hand in the general direction of Sacred Heart Psychiatric Hospital.

As they made their way to the imposingly large red-brick institution, Derek threw one arm around his partner's shoulders. Olivia smiled and looked up at him. "Thank you," she said.

"Anything for my girls," was the reply.

"You're such a good guy," Olivia continued. "And it's funny because you don't seem to realize it."

At that, Derek let out a small laugh. "And here I though Garcia was the only flirt on this team," he teased.

"I'm not flirting," she told him unnecessarily—he already knew, of course. "I'm just commenting. You're like a brother to me." They were quiet for a moment. The sound of their footfalls against the pavement, crunching over a fallen leaf or two, was like a makeshift symphony. Olivia concluded with, "I'm glad Hotch made us partners this time around," before falling silent, looking slightly uneasy.

Derek checked the clock on his phone. They still had some time, so he stopped. His arm had been around Olivia's shoulders and she was forced to be still. He moved to face her. She glanced at the short distance between them and the entrance and was on the verge of protesting, but Derek spoke first, "Liv, you need to _breathe_."

Olivia's cheeks and ears were flushed red from the chill. "I am breathing," she countered, "but we should probably get inside. The interview is scheduled for ten-thirty."

He looked at her searchingly. "What's making you so nervous, Liv?"

Olivia knew that to avoid her friend's intense gaze would indicate something amiss. "I'm not nervous," she told him. _I think this is a disturbing case. I don't want to do this custodial. I have a bad feeling._

"Is everything okay at home?"

_What?_ Where did _that_ come from? "Morgan," she said firmly, "I'm fine. Spencer's fine. I just don't want to be late for this, okay? That accident took more time to detour around than I assumed."

For a moment, he looked as if he would say more. Olivia didn't want to face questions about whether or not Spencer was still dealing with the after-effects of Georgia, almost nine months later to the day. She wasn't sure she could talk about her mother and how her doctors were trying to change her meds, both the antipsychotics and the mood-stabilizers, following last week's incident.

_I'd rather be in Nevada comforting my sick mother than chasing after this UnSub._

"Let's go," he said in a tone that suggested this conversation was _far_ from over.

She didn't need to be told twice. She readjusted her bag and entered the building. Of course, to prove chivalry was not even close to being dead, Derek Morgan held the door open for her.

They took an elevator to the eighth floor. The building was large, width-wise, but stood only eleven stories high. According to some simple research Olivia had done, the eighth floor was reserved for criminally psychotic patients who needed to be on maximum security around the clock; they were on constant suicide watch, were subjected to fifteen-minute welfare checks, all visitors were thoroughly screened and required to go through a metal detector, and mail was always to be opened in the presence of staff members. Nevertheless, a paranoid schizophrenic slit his wrists and died last year, even with the precautions.

Of course, reading about the young man's death had saddened Olivia greatly. Though he had committed horrific crimes in order to be placed at Sacred Heart, Olivia nearly had a full-blown panic attack when she reviewed the details of the suicide; it was only natural in the wake of Diana Reid's most recent breakdown for the young profiler to conjure up various scenarios, all of which ended with the untimely death of the mother she loved so fiercely. She and Spencer had taken great care in choosing Bennington. They could have sent her to a cheaper state facility, like Rawson-Neal or Southern Nevada, but Bennington was a beautiful sanitarium with nice, private rooms and top-of-the-line staff. Diana's guilt-ridden children had felt slightly better knowing these things in the immediate wake of the involuntary commitment. Olivia caught her mind wandering; she remembered touring the facility, interviewing staff, and she especially remembered the long conversations with the psychiatrists both before and after everything had happened.

Derek and Olivia, though they were expected, were still forced to jump through hoops to get their guest badges and then gain access to the eighth floor. Once there, they were patted down and required to walk through the metal detector. Because of their status as high-ranking government officials, they were allowed to keep their mobile phones; it didn't hurt that Olivia mentioned a family emergency which required her to keep her cell, either. Also, because the purpose of the visit was a custodial interview, Olivia received the blessing of the head psychiatrist, Dr. Roger Hillman, to keep her messenger bag and her copies of the case materials.

Dr. Hillman had arranged a workable setup in the interview room for the visiting federal agents. There were several salmon-pink couches and armchairs, all of which were stiff and clean from lack of frequent use. There were three armchairs arranged around a foldable card-table. The room was viewable from behind a one-way mirror, where Dr. Hillman promised a full security detail would be on standby should anything disagreeable happen. Because of the nature of the crimes their interviewee had committed, it was nonnegotiable that two guards would also be present in the room, less than a foot away at all times, but unarmed. "With the security detail in such close proximity in the interview room," Hillman explained as Olivia prepared the files on the table, "I'm taking every precaution to ensure your safety and that of my staff. There will be five armed officers behind the one-way, and three medical staff, including myself, with the properly prepared equipment."

_Like sedatives_, Olivia mused.

They declined refreshments and thanked the doctor for setting this up. He shook their hands and took his leave. Roger Hillman's parting words were that the inmate would be ready momentarily.

Derek Morgan took a seat beside Olivia. He stared at the single empty armchair across from him for a moment, and then flicked his gaze to the young woman on his left. Olivia Reid appeared relatively calm, to someone who didn't know her. But Derek had been working with Olivia for a few years at this point, and he was nothing if not a fantastic profiler with the years of experience to prove it, and he knew better.

The brunette was arranging files and digging through the messenger bag she'd carefully set at her feet. It was busy work, but fruitless. The untrained eye would not have noticed Olivia casually _rearranging_ the file order for absolutely no reason other than mindless distraction. Derek's eyes were not untrained.

_Not nervous, my ass, _Derek thought.

Ever the brilliant young doctor, Olivia, bad feelings notwithstanding, was not to be intimidated. Her wide eyes fixated on Derek. "Want to do a quick review?"

Actually, he did. The custodial interview was something of a last-minute endeavor. The discovery of their institutionalized client had been entirely Penelope Garcia's fault, and it was a happy accident. "You, Dr. Reid, are the renowned psychologist, geneticist, and kickass profiler. I bow to your wisdom in all things."

Olivia snorted. "You're spending too much time with Garcia," she told him. She opened the top folder. It was unlabeled and thicker than the others, having to be secured with a thick rubber-band. Absently, she slipped the band around one slender wrist. "Gregory Sutherland," she said, tapping one finger on the three-by-five photo insert, "was known as 'The Phantom' from 1973 until his arrest in 1994. Like our new Phantom, he killed people who he believed were unrepentant sinners. In fact, when he was arrested, he called them _dirty sinners_ and claimed they were _straying from the Lord_, and during his arraignment in August, 1994, Sutherland called the judge a _filthy, hypocritical Satan_ and told her she'd, and here I'm paraphrasing the wordy rant of a psychopath, _rot in hell_ where the demons would rape her body and afterwards _feast on her flesh_ every day for eternity."

"And you said that was an allusion to his cannibalism?" Derek asked.

"Mmhmm," Olivia assented with a slow nod, "definitely. The profilers that worked Sutherland's case initially correctly placed him as a paranoid schizophrenic suffering from religious delusions. It's actually not an uncommon diagnosis for killers acting on behalf of either God or Satan, though these sort of deity-mandated delusions don't _always_ indicate paranoid-type or schizophrenic-related mental illnesses."

She wasn't reading the file, as she knew it by heart, but she did flip to a different page. "He cut out and consumed their tongues and eyes, and stuffed cotton-balls in their ears."

Derek nodded. "Speak no evil, see no evil, and hear no evil."

"To absolve _whose_ sins, we don't know. These were all done pre-mortem, but the way in which he disposed of the bodies indicates _possible_ forgiveness for both his and the victims' sins. He didn't just dump them carelessly. He bathed them and laid them out for burial in clean clothes." Olivia flipped through a series of photographs—crime scenes, bodies laid out in various cemeteries across the United States, Canada, and even Mexico. Several similar murders in Germany, London, Switzerland, and China were thought to be Sutherland's handiwork, as well, but there was no conclusive evidence that it wasn't an overseas copycat and Sutherland had nothing to say about it; however, travel records did indicate he'd been to Europe and Asia, which was enough probable cause for those working the case in 1994.

"So was the consumption of their eyes and tongues _Sutherland's_ absolution? Or was the postmortem baptism and preparation his forgiveness?" Derek wondered.

Olivia gave a small shrug and a weary smile. "I learned long ago to never delve _that_ deeply into a fractured mind." She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "During his evaluations and the trial, he changed his story too often for us to know. In my professional opinion, though, I'd say the postmortem care was his guaranteed forgiveness. The anthropophagy was the fulfillment of God's perceived command to Sutherland. I think many other psychologists would agree with my assessment, but I'm open to further analysis."

Derek could see that his friend was about to continue when she was interrupted by the muffled vibrations of her phone. She mumbled an apology and dug through her jacket, which she'd folded between the arm of the chair and her left thigh. She glanced at the screen and stood up, walking a few steps away to answer. "Dr. Reid," Derek heard her say.

"Sure," he heard, "I agree that's for the best. Did you—? Oh, ah, no, I can't do that. I'm really sorry. Okay…okay, what were you thinking, then?"

There was a distinctive tap on the other side of the one-way mirror. Derek turned and held up one finger. He knew they had Sutherland on the other side of the door and were waiting. But they'd have to wait for Olivia, whether they liked that or not. _Your playground, _Derek thought, _our rules._

"No, I'd rather you didn't," Olivia was saying. "She couldn't focus on her work. She couldn't read and her hands would shake…she couldn't write in her journals, and she was calling Spencer and me in tears every night for a week. Right, I understand…no, no, really, I'm hoping to fly over next week. It's just that I'm—right, um, I think for the next few hours, you should call Spencer first, otherwise I realize it's my turn to be on-call. Three o'clock, at the latest. Yes, definitely, he is actually in possession of the joint POA papers right now. I mean, I know I have copies and—sure, I faxed them yesterday after I paid for the rest of the year, but I can check. I know the renewal is—oh, okay, thank you. Please tell her that I love her when she wakes up, and that I sent her a package with some—oh, yes, okay, thank you. Bye."

Olivia turned back to him and gave an affirmative signal to whoever could see her beyond the one-way. She sat quickly and was instantly composed. When Derek sent her a concerned, questioning look, she ignored it and focused on the murderer who was being led into interview room.

As they stood to introduce themselves, Gregory Sutherland's eyes darted straight to Olivia. He grinned. "Dr. Olivia Reid," he almost cooed, and Derek was almost furious enough to end the custodial right then. "It truly is a pleasure to finally meet the saint among the sinners."

If this unnerved her, it certainly did not show. Olivia's response was a cool, "I'm no saint, Mr. Sutherland."

And the cannibal replied, "I can change that."

_Author's note: Please let me know what you think; this is not a story I've written ahead of time, so while I do have a general idea of the plot, I am not closed to suggestions (although there are certain things I simply will not write, of course). This is a teamfic, so don't worry about the focus on my OC—but please do let me know your thoughts on her development as the story progresses; I promise no Mary-Sue or otherwise ridiculous traits in Olivia. It's nothing more than a character introduction intertwined with the required beginnings of a first chapter; everyone is working this case, I promise you. As you can probably tell, it would be wise to heed any warnings I post in each chapter. I've rated the overall story as Fiction T and I will give plenty of warning for any chapters rated M. But, seriously, this is a story involving a cannibal who killed sinners and his sort-of copycat and that speaks volume. To conclude this monstrous AN, I'd also like to note that the title will be explained, like in the next chapter, but it's an allusion to anthropophagy in Greek/Roman mythology that you could easily Google and understand, if you simply cannot wait._

_As for disclaimers, I have a general one in my FFN profile. But, really, food for thought: If I owned CM, why would I need to write fanfiction?_


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

**Hannibal Lecter**_: Now then, tell me. What did Miggs say to you? Multiple Miggs in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?_

**Clarice Starling**_: He said, "I can smell your cunt."_

**Hannibal Lecter**_: I see. I myself cannot. You use Evian skin cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today._

(_Silence of the Lambs_)

Derek Morgan could see hunger in Gregory Sutherland's sharp blue eyes and that disquieting gaze was fixated on Dr. Olivia Reid. Sensing Derek's protective instinct kicking into gear prematurely, Olivia simply suggested that they all take a seat. Two towering guards helped a shackled Sutherland into the empty chair across from the federal agents. Olivia sat with ease and confidence; Derek hesitated before sinking into his own chair. "Mr. Sutherland, as you know, I am Dr. Olivia Reid. This is Derek Morgan. We are Supervisory Special Agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Behavioral Analysis Unit in Virginia."

"A long way from home, little girl," Sutherland said. He winked.

"You will refer to her as _Dr._ Reid," Morgan growled, "or _Agent_ Reid."

Sutherland's gaze drifted to Derek. "You're here for my help," he said simply. It was as if he said _you need me to solve this case, and, therefore, I can say whatever I please_.

Derek Morgan shook his head. "We're here for information," he corrected. "Dr. Reid and I can end this interview at any time."

Those sharp blue eyes lightly assessed Olivia's lithe form, as if longing to caress her soft, soft skin. "Is this true?"

"Yes," Olivia replied. Her skin was crawling and she did her best to ignore it. _I am not his victim. I will never be his victim. I have the upper hand here._

"It is also true that I have an admirer?" Sutherland shifted in his seat.

"You have a copycat, yes," was Olivia's even reply. She cleared her throat. "I should say, you have an _almost_ copycat. There are noticeable differences."

"Such as?"

"This UnSub takes his victims' hearts and livers instead of the eyes and tongue."

Sutherland licked his lips. "UnSub?"

"Unknown subject," Olivia replied steadily.

"And you're sure this…_UnSub_…is consuming those organs?"

Olivia nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"And the bodies?" Sutherland inquired. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

"Cleaned," Olivia said, keeping her features and body language neutral, "and laid out in fresh clothes."

Derek added, "They're dumped in cemeteries. Sound familiar?"

Sutherland's grin was toothy and sharper than his ice-blue gaze. For someone who had been consuming human vitreous and lingua for at least twenty-one years, Gregory Sutherland's teeth were in top condition. "May I ask personal questions during this interview?"

Derek's reply was an immediate "No," and Olivia's reply was a simultaneous, "Of course." She threw him a glance that said _I know what I'm doing and I can handle this_. Olivia looked at Sutherland and said, "Ask away."

"Your brother," the tall former UnSub mused. Olivia prepared to go on the defensive, but she had allowed this line of questioning. "His name is Spencer, is it not?"

"It is," she replied, struggling to remain neutral.

"Hmm, Old English name and yet _Olivia _was first used by Shakespeare in _Twelfth Night_. Your parents must appreciate the classics," Sutherland said.

"Middle English, actually," Olivia corrected, "and my father is more into Asimov. It's my mother who appreciates the older classics."

"Your father, William, is a lawyer. But I can see that it is Diana Reid, former literature professor, who—"

"Okay, that's enough!" Derek warned, slamming the palm of his hand down on the table. Sutherland looked relatively impassive to this outburst but his gaze slithered to rest on the dark-skinned agent and there was definite annoyance there. "You did your research," Derek told him angrily, "good for you."

Sutherland chuckled, but there was nothing inherently humorous in the sound. It was tauntingly low, almost dark. "Research," he repeated. "I did more than research, Agent Morgan. This world isn't _closed_ to me."

_Son of a bitch_, Derek wanted to shout. He looked at Olivia. "I knew we were being followed," he growled. He looked at Sutherland again, and if looks could kill… "Who did you hire?"

"I like to keep my circles of friends separate, Agent Morgan," Sutherland replied, "but I assure you that no harm will come to you or your friends. I was simply curious. When I receive visitors, I like to know about them. Anyways, tell me more about this _UnSub_, as you say, Dr. Reid."

Olivia was still trying to align her thoughts, trying to understand that feeling _watched_ for the previous two days and this morning hadn't simply been contagious paranoia. They were actually being followed. Derek discreetly touched her elbow, bringing her back to the present. "Oh," she said, "I believe he is suffering from a psychotic break related to paranoid schizophrenia."

"Much like the doctors have said about me," Sutherland mused.

"You don't believe them?"

"I believe the chosen few who hear the voice of the almighty God," Sutherland said, anger coloring his tone, "and are called to do his will are _silenced_ by the sinners we strive to save." He shifted in his chair and rested his cuffed hands on the table. The guards stood on edge, carefully watching this movement.

"I'm sure our UnSub believes he's acting on the will of God, too," Olivia said calmly. "He leaves notes on the bodies."

"Scripture?"

"Sometimes," Olivia assented, "and sometimes a single word."

"Such as?"

"One of the seven deadly sins," Olivia replied.

Sutherland sighed. "I only ever left scripture."

"We know," Derek said.

Another sigh from the inmate. "I don't see how I can help you."

"You can tell us how you evaded detection for over two decades," Derek told him.

Sutherland shrugged. "It was God's will."

Derek shook his head. "No."

"I left no DNA," Sutherland relented, "and even if I had, there was no way to test it in those days." He looked at Olivia. "I also kept up with the Joneses, if you know what I mean. I never gave anyone a reason to suspect me. Are you the younger sibling, Dr. Reid?"

"I am," she said, reviewing Sutherland's words in her mind. She recalled reading statements from Gregory Sutherland's neighbors, employer, coworkers, friends, and parents; every one of them said they just couldn't believe Sutherland was capable of such horrific crimes. It wasn't an uncommon reaction in the aftermath of an arrest for such heinous criminalities. "By three minutes and twenty-seven seconds."

"I always wished I had been born a twin," Sutherland told her. "Or, at least, that my parents had been more fruitful. I never liked being an only child. Pets were never enough, either."

_He wet the bed until he was sixteen_, Olivia remembered. "You killed most of your family's pets, Mr. Sutherland, and burned down the barns of three local farmers, killing the horses and cows that were inside."

"I don't deny my involvement."

"Triad of sociopathy," Olivia murmured, mostly to herself, "Macdonald triad."

"And you believe in this triad?" Sutherland wondered.

"It's scientifically sound," Olivia told him absently. She grabbed her phone. "Please excuse me." She sent a text to Garcia: _Can u pull records of local fires? Unexplained, last ten yrs? _

The instant reply was: _Piece of cake, sunshine_.

_Thanks. Send to Hotch pls, _she responded and tucked the phone back into the folds of her jacket. "I apologize."

"No need," Sutherland grinned good-naturedly. It was then that Olivia and Derek truly saw this man through the eyes of someone unaware of his crimes. It was nothing short of astonishing, really. Olivia thought Gregory looked relatively average, hauntingly _normal_; just as strangers probably viewed Olivia as unimposing, she could imagine passing Sutherland on a busy sidewalk and not sparing a second glance. He was old enough to be her grandfather; he looked like a kindly man, but fierce insanity and raging hunger in his cold eyes gave him away. "You know, I never wanted sons or grandchildren, but I'd give anything to go back and have a daughter as pretty as you."

Olivia wanted to shudder. Thankfully, Sutherland had never married. She couldn't imagine the fate of any offspring this killer might produce. Would he have killed them, too, if the God in his delusions _willed_ it? It happened in the Bible, in Genesis, when the Lord commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, before rescinding the order and allowing the boy to live another day. In Greek mythology, the Titan, Cronus (_Saturn_, in Romanized mythology), devoured his sons because he feared they would overthrow him; his last son, Zeus, was spared by mother Rhea who wrapped a stone in swaddling cloth for Cronus to consume and hid her son in Crete. The crude Goya oil mural depicted a demonic-looking Cronus in the act of anthropophagy and filicide. While considering these ancient tales, Olivia had an idea. "Derek, I think I understand why it's just the hearts and livers."

Derek felt like they were getting nowhere fast with this creep Sutherland. "Why?" He was ready to leave. Sutherland couldn't give them anything useful. It had been worth a shot to get into the mind of someone so similar, but now it felt like a waste of precious time.

"To keep away a demon," Olivia said. "Specifically, to keep away the demon of _lust_, Asmodeus, who is 'the worst of demons' in the apocryphal Book of Tobit."

"Seriously?" Derek asked her, raising his brow. It sounded plausible, but it seemed equally like a stretch of the imagination.

"Mmhmm," Olivia nodded, "Sarah of Media lost seven husbands to Asmodeus. Her cousin, Tobias, makes the journey to Media to marry her, accompanied by his dog and the archangel Raphael, who is disguised as a human named Azariah. Tobias is washing his feet in the Tigris when a fish attacks him and tries to swallow his foot, but the angel orders him to capture it and remove its heart, liver, and gallbladder to make medicines."

"But our victims aren't missing their gallbladders," Derek reminded her.

"Right," Olivia said, drumming her fingers quietly on the table, "because later in the story, Raphael instructs Tobias to burn only the liver and heart to keep away the demon on his wedding night, so he can safely consummate his marriage to Sarah. It works. Raphael is able to capture Asmodeus in Upper Egypt and bind him. I don't think our UnSub needs medicine, but protection from a demon—although, I guess, not necessarily the demon of lust specifically."

"We can present it to the team when we get back."

They had nearly forgotten about Sutherland. The old man looked at them and said, "I'm glad you have a lead. Now, if that's all you'll need from me," he indicated the wall clock with a short nod of his head, "my show starts in five minutes."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

_You know, when they call me, and they all call me, it is so important to them that I know what they ask is the Lord's will. Or Allah's or Yahweh's. And I suppose they're right. 'Cause if he was not vengeful, I would not exist, now would I?_

(Assassin, _Angels and Demons_)

* * *

The precinct was a cacophony of sound, a dizzying discord of voices, ringing phones, fingers tapping on computer keys, and jammed copy machines. In the middle of it all: a clotted group of sleep-deprived, but exceedingly determined, people. Jennifer Jareau was taping the photo of the newest missing person, Maria Alvarez, to the whiteboard with an empathetic sigh when Derek and Olivia returned from their custodial at Sacred Heart Psychiatric Hospital, just one of many subsidiaries of Merciful Ministry Hospitals and Clinics in the area. Even though the scowls on their faces were a dead giveaway as to the overall outcome of the interview, JJ put on her warmest smile and asked, "How did it go?"

In response, Derek and Olivia let out long-suffering sighs, almost in unison, and the younger agent plopped unceremoniously into the empty chair beside a contemplative David Rossi. "He looked like a hungry animal," Derek told them.

"And I think I looked like the appetizer," Olivia added with a frown. She looked at the newest photo in their disturbingly large collection. "When did Maria Alvarez go missing?"

"Three hours ago," JJ told them. "Her neighbor agreed to babysit Maria's three-year-old for half an hour while she went for a few groceries. She called 911 when Maria had been gone for two hours and wouldn't answer her phone. Maria's car is still in the parking lot, but she isn't in the store. Garcia tried to track Maria's phone, but it's turned off."

"Garcia says the security cameras caught Maria going into the store, but not leaving it. The only other exit is in the shipments area out back, but the camera there hasn't worked properly since 2005," Spencer said, turning to look at them momentarily before focusing on his geographical profile once more.

"Oh, that reminds me," Olivia spoke up. "I asked Garcia to look up unexplained fires in this area, going back ten years, and send the data to Hotch." She looked up at her Unit Chief. "Did the data come through yet?"

Aaron Hotchner shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Are you looking to narrow this down through the specifics of the homicidal triad?"

Olivia nodded but it was Derek who spoke: "She has a theory."

"It's more like a hypothesis at this point," the younger Reid said.

"Let's hear it," Hotch ordered.

Six pairs of eyes focused on her and Olivia cleared her throat nervously. "Gregory Sutherland said something about having children and it made me think about what would happen if he had been a father. I couldn't help but think about Abraham almost sacrificing Isaac, or Saturn consuming his sons so they wouldn't overthrow him." The only nod of understanding she received was from Spencer. "And I realized the hearts and livers were symbolic of Tobias."

The atmosphere became, at once, uncomfortable.

Emily Prentiss made a face. "Hankel?" With the exception of recent-addition Rossi, who just frowned in confusion, they were all thinking it. She just voiced the question.

Olivia shook her head. "No," she said, "I mean from the Bible, in the Book of Tobit. In the story, the burning of fish hearts and livers was used to keep away Asmodeus, the demon of lust who had killed Sarah of Media's seven husbands, consecutively, on their wedding nights. Tobias sets out to successfully marry Sarah, even though Sarah's father has secretly dug a grave in preparation for what he believes is Tobias' inevitable death. But the archangel Raphael has advised Tobias to burn the hearts and livers after the wedding. He does this and Asmodeus does not kill him. Happily ever after."

"The threat of demonic possession is essential to his delusion?" Spencer mused. Of everyone, he seemed to be the least uncomfortable with images of Georgia being dragged from the shadows, dusted off, and forced into the spotlight. But the façade fooled nobody, least of all his sister.

"Maybe," Olivia replied with a shrug. "We already presented the profile," she said, remembering yesterday's discussion of a _white male between twenty-five and forty, likely a paranoid schizophrenic who had experienced some type of recent stressor, working a menial job and driving a large, dark vehicle_, "but I wouldn't be surprised if the UnSub's stressor dealt explicitly with the loss of a romantic interest, probably someone he's loved for a long time, and possibly someone he feels was _stolen_ from him. His romantic interest likely died in a way the UnSub perceives as a robbery."

"What do you mean?" Prentiss asked, furrowing her brow.

"I mean the love interest was probably murdered, or died suddenly—perhaps in a car accident, or from a biological or genetic accident, something where death was instantaneous," Olivia clarified. "Let's assume this person is a woman. She didn't die after a long illness, like cancer. She had no fighting chance of survival."

Rossi considered the young woman beside him. "What kind of 'biological or genetic accident' are we talking about here?"

Olivia repressed a sigh. The list was long. Luckily, there were a few common culprits. "I was born with moderate pulmonary valve stenosis, which is a simple congenital heart defect," she replied, and tugged the collar of her dress-shirt down slightly, exposing an old whitened surgical scar running vertically over her chest. She readjusted her collar, hiding the scar once again. "If I hadn't developed cyanosis one week after birth, my parents wouldn't have taken me to the emergency room, I wouldn't have been diagnosed or treated, and I would now be a walking time-bomb. The romantic interest may have had a similar congenital defect that went undetected, like John Ritter, that actor who died from an aortic dissection in 2003. Or she had an early aneurysm or heart attack, something rare for her age. It's almost impossible to guess without knowing a detailed family history, though."

"Or she could have committed suicide," JJ added quietly. Her hand strayed automatically to her neck, realizing too late that she was not wearing her sister's pendant. The team didn't know. It went undetected, for now. Someday, she feared, there would be a case where her secrets would be aired like dirty laundry. _Garcia's right; it's easy to hate profilers sometimes…_

Per their Unit Chief's directive, Morgan placed a call to Garcia. They needed her to work some technical magic regarding Olivia Reid's _hypothesis_ about the love interest, and inquire whether or not those requested arson records were pulled.

"Docket ending in _creepy_, the beautiful and sagacious Penelope Garcia presiding. How do you plead?"

Morgan grinned unashamedly. "You're on speaker, mama," he told her.

"Good, because do I _ever_ have some information for you all," Garcia said. There was a distinctively familiar sound of fingers on a keyboard. "Liv, I found a few fires that fell into the parameters you sent to me earlier. There were two in 1999, one in 2000, and seven between 2005 and July of this year."

"I'm sorry—did you say _seven_ in the last two years?" Olivia asked, leaning forward in her chair with a deep frown. "Were there any fatalities?"

"Yep; almost all of them were barn or chicken-coop fires," Garcia said. When Olivia was about to clarify that she meant _human_ fatalities, Garcia continued, "Except the last fire. In July, a church was burned to the ground while the priest, Father Edward Hunting, and three homeless men—Richard Gavin, Maxwell Turner, and a John Doe—were inside. One of the responding firefighters was caught inside when the structure collapsed. He died in the hospital the next day. The cause of the fire is currently listed as 'undetermined.'"

Ever the vigilant geographical profiler, Spencer Reid uncapped a red felt-tip marker and asked, "What was the name of the church, Garcia?"

"St. Augustine," she replied. "It was downtown, on the corner of Nebel and Lincoln. I'm looking at the last pictures taken of the building before it burned down. It wasn't very big, but it had a business website that was turned into a memorial and landmark page of sorts, only two days after the fire. I see links to the funeral home and obituary pages, and a map to another church in the parish, St. Peter's."

They updated her on the case. On her end, Penelope shuddered at the far too recent memory of Georgia. "I will run a search for female accident, homicide, and suicide victims in the last year, in that age range," she affirmed, already beginning to unseal medical records from nearby hospitals. "The list is going to be _ginormous _so give me some time. I'll call you later, my doves."

The reassuringly colorful presence was gone when the line was disconnected.

Derek slipped his phone into a pocket.

Hotchner studied his watch. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. The team had been working nonstop since four that morning. They had been relying on coffee as sustenance. Before his undernourished and exhausted charges could launch into more profiling and crime-dissecting, he called for a much-deserved lunch break. Nobody tried to mask their looks of grateful relief. "We can pick this up when we get back."

"There's a pizzeria just down the road. My treat," Rossi told them. He patted Derek on the shoulder once as they all filed out of the station and into the waiting SUVs, unaware that they were being watched and photographed from a distance.

* * *

_Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed this story so far. I value feedback very much—please let me know I'm not writing in a void! I know this has started out lacking in the action and adventure department, and is profile/case-heavy right now and kind of slow, but it's going to pick up very soon. _

_I would also like to note that, while I am a senior psychology major and study abnormal human behaviors extensively, I am certainly not an expert. I'm making educated guesses when it comes to the profile, with emphasis on 'guesses.'_

_Finally, if you haven't seen the preview for Wednesday's CM, I suggest you look it up! It's called 'The Good Earth' and MGG is the director. He has been hinting about it on his FB page all week, teasing his fans, and just from the preview, I don't think it was an oversell._


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

_"I had a student approach me after class once. A bright young man. He told me he'd seen devils fly out of the clock during lecture. I never saw him again."_

(Author's former professor)

* * *

As his friend, Jennifer Jareau was required by unwritten law to tousle Dr. Spencer Reid's hair as she passed behind his chair at the pizzeria. The young doctor had barely smoothed the wayward tufts when Olivia followed JJ and repeated the latter's affectionate gesture. This earned Olivia a glare from her brother as she took the open chair to Spencer's right. Of course, the scene provided endless amusement for Derek Morgan in the agonizingly slow minutes between ordering their food and receiving it. Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi exchanged an exasperatedly bemused glance, each relishing in that rare moment of emotional levity a little more stoically.

"_Lombardi's _in New York is America's first pizzeria," Spencer was saying as the server brought two large pizzas to the table. "It was licensed by the City in 1905."

"Is that so, Pretty Boy?" Morgan asked distractedly as his empty glass of Sprite was replaced.

"Is that the one with Mona Lisa painted on the front?" Olivia asked, sliding a slice onto her plate.

Spencer nodded as his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and the siblings shared a look before Spencer excused himself from the table, Olivia following a short pace behind him. Their concerned friends and colleagues could only stare after their retreating forms.

Morgan backed away from the table and followed after them before anyone could stop him. He left the warmth of the restaurant to find the Reids standing on the sidewalk. Seeing his approach, Olivia met him halfway. "Did something happen with your mom?" Derek asked, unabashed.

Olivia sighed. She wasn't going to lie to her friend. "Last week," she started slowly, "another patient told my mom that he overheard the doctors say my father had called the hospital to inform them that Spencer and I had been killed on the job. The patient told her the doctors were plotting to hide this from her."

Derek drew in a sharp, angry hiss of air and shook his head. "There's more," he said, looking into his friend's sad, worried emerald gaze.

Olivia looked back at Spencer, but he had his back to them. "The meds she's been on for the last two years have slowly decreased in effectiveness since the end of August. Had the other patient told her this in, say, June…well, it would have been a different reaction. It would have been better."

"She didn't try to—" Derek started, but he couldn't say it.

"I got a call at eight that evening," Olivia told him. "She had an episode, a complete breakdown, and they had to sedate her because she was hitting herself, pounding on the windows, and smashing her head against the wall. They tried to tell her we were alright, that the other patient had lied and I was on the phone waiting to speak with her, but mom was telling them life meant nothing without her children and that the doctors should just kill her." She had to look away from Derek's horrified face. Her hands trembled, so she stuffed them in her coat pockets. "When I talked to her, it was only for a second. She was drugged. She said, 'I'll be there soon, baby,' before she was asleep." Olivia didn't tell him that she'd spent the next four hours on the bathroom floor, emptying her stomach and sobbing.

Spencer approached them then. "Everything is alright," he told his sister.

"Can I do anything to help?" Derek asked them, though he couldn't see how. "I could talk to Hotch."

"No," Olivia told him, "the only thing we can do is take a flight out when this case is over." She looked at Spencer. "We don't even have to go back to Quantico. But let's go back inside. I'm freezing."

But Morgan didn't move. Olivia was looking at him, borderline desperate to escape the biting chill, one hand on the door. When he didn't tease her about being from warm Nevada, Olivia knew something was off. "Two o'clock," Derek said, trying to look casual. "Dark blue car."

The least threatening of the three, Olivia nodded and began to walk away, loudly proclaiming she'd forgotten something. She put on a convincing show and walked a roundabout route to where a middle-aged man was sitting in his car, pretending he hadn't been spying. Derek and Spencer took a more direct approach, but the man decided it was time to leave, as the agents had anticipated, and began to drive away.

He didn't get far.

It all happened relatively fast then. There was no time to process the sequence of events as they unfolded in rapid-fire succession. Hotch, Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss had cautiously moved outside. In the time it took them to exit the pizzeria, Olivia had somehow managed to coax their unidentified stalker into rolling down the driver's side window. Now, instead of talking to the man, Olivia was almost completely inside of the vehicle, fighting for control of a gun the man had produced upon the agent's approach.

The man pressed the gas pedal with varying degrees of applied pressure as the struggle continued. Olivia's horrified colleagues ran after the swerving car, shouting at the unsteadily retreating vehicle.

There was a moment when time seemed to be suspended. There was nothing except the sounds of a lurching car, shouts, and the pounding of feet against the cracked pavement.

Time caught up with them in a blinding, disorienting rush.

The sedan had a driver but was not exactly being _driven_. As physics would have it, the all but unmanned vehicle slammed into the side of a parked van, nearly ejecting Olivia into the street. But the agent continued to struggle, valiantly deciding physics would have to wait until she'd subdued this mystery man. At the moment, she didn't have _time_ for the laws of nature.

Aaron Hotchner was the first to arrive. He was maybe a foot away from being able to touch the sedan when the resounding _crack_ of a gunshot echoed through the main street.

A bloodied Olivia fell to the pavement. Her head connected with the ground, fracturing her jaw-clip into several jagged pieces. The other agents were still shouting her name as they flooded onto the scene.

Olivia blinked. "I'm fine," she told them, reaching out a hand. Hotch helped his subordinate to her feet, where she swayed a little too unsteadily for his liking.

As Hotch and Rossi examined the deceased driver, the others alternated between staring at the bloody scene and fussing over a winded Olivia Reid—except Spencer, who directed his sister to lean against the car's bumper and didn't spare a second glance at the unidentified driver. "You might have a concussion," he told her. "The car was traveling at approximately thirty miles per hour before the collision. Did you hit your head more than once? The effects of a concussion could take hours to appear, so when the ambulance gets here, you should probably go to the hospital just to be safe."

He felt the base of his sister's skull for a bump, laceration, or any tender spots, but Olivia swatted his hand away. "I'm fine," she reminded him.

"You keep saying that," Spencer countered, "but like I said, you might not know for hours."

"No hospitals," she grouched. Olivia wiped away some of the foreign blood from her face and neck with the back of her hand. She shuddered upon noticing the fragments of hair and brain matter. "I was just about to complain about not getting any pizza," she said, "but…never mind."

Spencer and Hotch made eye contact across the way. Hotch's gaze clearly read: _we need to know what happened here_.

"You need a cognitive from me," Olivia said a heartbeat later, without looking back at her superior. Spencer nodded. "There isn't much to say. He pulled a gun and I reacted."

"You aren't wearing your gun," Spencer observed, worried at that implication.

"Neither is Morgan," Olivia said. "Hotch was holding our guns while we did the custodial with Sutherland. Everything was pretty crazy when we got back to the precinct; I guess it slipped my mind."

"Why did you struggle with him for the gun instead of running? He was driving away."

"The gun wasn't aimed at me," Olivia told him.

Derek joined them then. "What do you mean?"

"He put the gun to his temple."

Spencer blinked. "This was a suicide?" He exchanged a look with Derek.

"I tried to stop him," Olivia told them. "We fought for the gun and he still got what he wanted in the end." She turned to face Hotch and Rossi as emergency vehicles began arriving to the scene. "Did you find an ID on him?"

"Carl Luther," Hotch affirmed. "Fifty-two."

Prentiss was holding the wallet with one gloved hand. "He's not from town. Did I hear right? This was a suicide?"

Olivia nodded. She was starting to feel more emotional about the situation as the adrenaline and shock wore off. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. Of course, the choice wasn't hers. Two separate officers and a paramedic still needed to know what happened, and she related the story grudgingly. Spencer tried to convince her, once again, to be examined at the hospital, but she declined. "Honestly, I just want to go back to the motel and take a really long shower," she told him. The paramedic had cleaned her up the best he could, but Olivia knew there was probably foreign matter in her hair. Scalding-hot water and lots of shampoo were the only things that would placate her at this point.

"Go," Hotch said, approaching so quietly that Olivia jumped. "Have Morgan drive you back to the motel, then meet us at the precinct. Take your time."

She had never been so glad to leave a crime scene.

* * *

_Author's note: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter; I have family on the East Coast being affected by the hurricane, and I can't help but worry. Anyways, this chapter is just a filler, sort of a setup for the action. Seriously, everything is about to go south, really fast. _

_ForTheLoveOfSeto: I lied! Unintentionally, but gahhh, sorry! MGG has been posting about the episode he's directing "in October" and I missed one of his FB updates saying it was for 8x10. So, I don't think Halloween's episode was directed by him. Nevertheless, it looks superb! Thanks for being my faithful reviewer! I look forward to more _It's Not Too Late _updates! (: _


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

There was something wrong.

Derek Morgan's brow furrowed deeply as he pounded on Olivia Reid's motel room door for the fifth time and there was no response. "Liv, it's Derek," he called as he tested the door handle. It was unlocked. "I'm coming in," he warned when he cracked the door open an inch or two. There was no response, so he pushed it open completely. The room was empty, but he could hear the shower running. _It's been two hours_, Derek reminded himself; _no way she's still in there_.

A towel was flung carelessly on the bed. Tentatively, he pressed the back of one hand to the linen. It was damp. That instinct, the distinctive _bad feeling_, swelled up inside his chest and Derek reached for his gun. Of course, it was with Olivia's, in their Unit Chief's custody at the precinct. _Shit_. Completely alert, eyes darting calculatingly across the small room, Derek moved to the bed he assumed was Olivia's and not JJ's. Knowing Olivia, having worked with her since 2003, he had a good idea of her conventions and nuances.

Derek pulled back a corner of the neatly-made bed and slid his hand beneath one of the pillows, all in two swift moves. Sure enough, his fingers touched something cool and hard. He produced the switchblade, held it with a firm grasp, and made his way to the bathroom.

The door was cracked and steam from the blisteringly hot water swirled about the room and the door, vanishing into the cooler realms of the main room. "Liv," he called. Again, there was no response.

He pushed the door open. The steam had completely fogged the mirror. It hung in the small, windowless room thickly. "_Olivia?_"

Derek tore back the shower curtain, ready for anything, but hoping for the best. It was completely empty. A shampoo bottle and a bar of soap lay on the tub's floor. The agent turned off the scalding water and took in the scene as the steam cleared.

It wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

There were watery traces of blood on the shower's off-white interior—the walls, the curtain, and on the tub's edge. Derek followed the trail away from the tub. It was everywhere; small drops rolled freely down the walls, thin and patchy lines and splotches dotted the floor, but Derek was more concerned about the thick pool of crimson on the sharp edge of the sink that was cascading to the floor. "_Fuck_," he hissed, pulling out his cell and backing into the main room. "Goddammit," he growled as Hotch's phone rang once, twice.

Aaron Hotchner answered the call. "Morgan?"

Derek was at a loss of how to break the news, so he just said it: "Get to the motel. Liv is missing."

There was no pause. "We're on our way," Hotch said firmly and hung up.

Luckily for Derek, who paced impatiently outside of Olivia's motel room, he didn't have to wait long. Two SUVs and a battalion of emergency vehicles, each with activated sirens and lights, flooded the small parking lot of the motel. Everyone was immediately serious, all business. They stormed the scene, allowing the techs to process the room first before following to analyze and profile. All DNA recovered by the techs was sent priority to the lab, at Hotch's express command.

The atmosphere was tense as the BAU team tried to piece the crime scene together. Emotions were running high. Only nine months after Georgia, it was happening all over again.

Dr. Spencer Reid could barely look at the bloodstained bathroom, so he stood by Olivia's empty bed, out of the way. The odds were not in his sister's favor at all. In fact, based on their UnSub's pattern with the previous victims, the chances that Olivia would survive the night—or even the next _hour_—were slim. On the unnervingly dim flip side, the team's chances of recovering Olivia's body in a dirty, lonely cemetery were relatively high. If he had to plan a funeral, at least there would be a body. It was a dark thought. "It's going be okay, Spence." He jumped. He hadn't seen JJ approach.

"I don't see how," Spencer said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. He didn't want false reassurances. He mumbled a half-hearted apology and stalked outside, nimbly avoiding crossing paths with anyone, where he did the one thing he could do: call Garcia.

"Incredibly sexy genie in a bottle," her cheerful voice answered. "Your wish is my command."

"Hey, Garcia," he said, "it's Reid."

"Ah, my handsome junior G-man," she quipped. "What can I tell you that isn't in that beautiful head of yours already?"

"Uh," he was just realizing that calling Garcia first _also _meant breaking the bad news about Olivia.

"Reid, where are you? I can hear, like, a million people in the background." Garcia didn't wait for a response. "Is Liv close by? I'm just about done pulling those medical records. I sent her a text maybe an hour ago and she still hasn't replied. Or did you successfully convince that stubborn young lady to get her noggin looked at? I still can't believe she jumped into that car. Maybe she's been spending too much time with Derek. I'll have to remind him that Liv is an impressionable youngster, so he needs to tone down the heroic stuff."

"Yeah, about that," Spencer said as calmly as he could. "I need you to run a trace on Liv's cell."

There was a lengthy pause. Spencer couldn't hear any typing. After a moment, he looked at his phone to make sure they were still connected. Finally, Garcia spoke: "Please tell me this is just because she lost her phone or something."

Spencer winced a little. He wished that were the case. "I'm sorry, Garcia." It was all he could say.

He heard her typing furiously on her keyboard. "This can't be happening," she said in a voice so small Spencer barely heard the words. "Oh my God! Reid, oh my—her phone is on."

"What?" He almost yelled and signaled for JJ, who signaled for Morgan. "Where is she?" In less than a minute, the rest of the team was gathered beside him. He put her on speaker.

"She's traveling north along the highway," Garcia exclaimed, "at a super-fast rate. Almost eighty miles an hour."

That was all they needed. They were piled in the SUVs before the analyst had even finished her sentence. They were followed by a few of the LEOs as well.

They barreled down the highway. The trees and road were a blur as they sped along.

It was the end of a work day and rush hour traffic stood in their way. Hotch and Morgan wove around other vehicles with precision and determination, but many were able to move out of the way once the other drivers spotted the emergency lights.

"How much further, Garcia?" Spencer asked as Hotch whipped around a slow-moving F-150. As they passed, the young genius could see the driver was on his cell.

"You're about a mile behind him," was the terse reply. "You're looking for a navy-blue cargo van. It's a 2005 Chevrolet Astro, license plate 500-XXR, registered to Martha Han; it was reported stolen last May, from the Han family's floral delivery business in downtown Boston."

JJ relayed the information to Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi, who were in the SUV behind them. She felt apprehensive, and was thankful they had taken the time to don their Kevlar vests.

"You should be able to—" Garcia started, but the Unit Chief cut her off.

"I have a visual!" Hotch exclaimed, pointing to a van matching Garcia's description. Because of the van's speed, other traffic had fallen behind. They were isolated with their suspect on a wide stretch of road. When the LEOs were updated, three squad cars passed Hotch on the left, lights blazing and sirens screaming.

"There is a federal agent in the van," Hotch barked over the radio. "Proceed with caution!"

They were able to strategically maneuver the cargo van to the shoulder. It was surrounded in a matter of seconds, but the driver took off on foot, running into the thin shield of trees bordering the highway. Hotch, Morgan, and three officers from the precinct pursued him while Spencer, Prentiss, Rossi, and JJ approached the idling van with their weapons drawn. The front of the van is cleared immediately; their suspect traveled without a passenger. Rossi and Prentiss forced open the back doors, revealing a cluttered, windowless cargo area. The stench was overpowering when it hit them. Something _definitely_ died in the back of the van.

They called Olivia's name, only to be greeted with silence.

Spencer wasted no time and climbed into the darkened cargo area, shoving boxes and tools out of his way. "She's here! I've got her, she's here!" He knelt down suddenly, disappearing from his friends' sight. There was a moment of silence that was broken only by sirens, voices in the near distance, and some rustling from the cargo van. Then, "I've got a pulse! Someone help me get her out of here."

Prentiss climbed into the van without hesitation. It was cramped and the terrain was a bit awkward, but she and Spencer were able to get a bloody, semiconscious Olivia into the fresh air. With the help of Rossi and JJ, they helped their injured friend lay down in the backseat of the nearest SUV. JJ climbed in and moved so Olivia's head was resting in her lap. Spencer took off his coat and covered his sister's shoulders; Rossi grabbed a throw blanket from the back and unfolded it, draping it over the girl.

And in the distance, a gunshot rang out.


End file.
